I felt inspired tonight to write about a not-so-big moment that had a big impact on me and my daughter. After a long and wonderful weekend with family, I was walking my daughter and dog to a local park up north where we were staying. It so happened that an Eastern European community of families was picnicking in the park, though it was still open to everybody.
My dog was pulling like a madman to smell all the sights and sounds. My daughter was riding her bike precariously over the bumpy grass, weaving in and out of late afternoon lunchers with blankets, the late day sun shining on their faces. An old Eastern European woman looked up at me curiously. Her eyes squinted in the sun, her hair tied behind a brown kerchief. I smiled, but wasn’t sure if she smiled back. I continued on, transplanted in another timezone, hearing the brushings and sweepings of a foreign tongue all around me, shaking my usual sensibilities.
understand me
I watched the people’s at-ease body language, admired their communal play, and heard their spontaneous song.
A very pretty young woman with a baby jammed a melody while her cohorts softly played guitar. Her voice sent a high anthem across the park. Stunning. I wanted to say something, but was shy at first, remember? I felt like we were unexpected guests at an intimate party.
But, something in me spoke: this was an opportunity to teach my daughter, and me, something important.
I sat at a bench near the playground, controlling my wayward dog. A young man and his mother-in-law sat beside me. His wife was off with three lovely daughters on the swings and monkey-bars. My daughter eyed them uncomfortably but with longing. The other little girl eyed my daughter with a similar stance and a silent invite to play.
I finally spoke to my daughter, “Go, Play”. She held back, waited. “No,” she said worried, “she speaks a different language.” Inspired, I told her, no…
“You speak a universal language: smiling, saying Hi, and laughter.”
She seemed to take that in, but still didn’t move. The mother-in-law admired my daughter and in a secret language seemed to encourage her to go. The other little girl came closer, holding herself shyly with the sweetest of smiles.
“OK, that’s it” I said sternly to my stubborn one, “Now GO.” She finally gave in and went. We watched them slowly come together and play.
Before we knew it they were jumping and swinging together on a shared landscape.
I slowly approached the group of musicians. I smiled a couple of times to no effect. They were completely absorbed in what they were doing. I wanted to join in, or say, “Wow, you are so good. Can I listen in?” But I seemed to lack the language, and the nerve.
I went out of view for a moment. I said internally to myself, and to the universe…
We are all one. We belong together. One day we will all know it. You hear my intent. You know what I am saying. All is well here.
Although they didn’t seem to respond to my “words”, I felt a calm acceptance of what-is. As I walked back to get my daughter, I watched a grandfather pushing his grandson wildly on a swing. The little one squealed in delight. And the grandfather laughed, too.
“See.” I said to myself and them. “I understand you perfectly.” In that moment, there was no war, and all was happy.
P.S. As my daughter climbed back on her bike, she told me how she met a girl today who speaks a different language, but they became friends. She said it matter-of- factly, and with hidden sadness, that they would likely never see each other again. I told her you never know. She told me of other friends she had met for only one day whom she later forgot about. I reminded her, “But you do remember them. You are still friends. You are remembering them now.”
It seemed she had not only met a foreign friend she could understand, but remember too, and maybe even love. (But that is for another day). She smiled, satisfied with herself, and rode away.
